


Innatism

by TanPopIcon



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Character Study, Dismemberment, Fever Dreams, Gen, Language, Loyalty, Makishima being makishima, Manipulation, Pre-Canon, Prostitution, Psychological Trauma, Reader-Insert, Unreliable Narrator, loosely freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanPopIcon/pseuds/TanPopIcon
Summary: You remember what it was like to see him for the first time. He was pristine, calm, amused. You think that maybe he'd taken your last shred of empathy with his presence alone. You now know that he'd seen a new toy in you; a new entertainer needing strings and a script. At the time, you'd thought him an angel.***The reader insert no one asked for where Makishima isn't uncharacteristically lovestruck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm shocked that I wrote a reader-insert, they drive me up the wall because of their tendency to blatantly ignore characterization in favor of "romance". I was inspired to try and write one that would take Makishima's canon personality into account as this really doesn't happen in those types of stories. It turned into a behemoth character study from the outside looking in, and my intention was to show the all-encompassing way that he gets under people's skin, and the intimacy that can be found in the kind of torturous devotion I think he's capable of commanding in people. 
> 
> =^.^'=

The jagged stump where your left arm used to be is throbbing with the beat of your heart. A hastily wrapped curtain tie is holding the blood at bay but you know that there isn't much time left. Masaoka barely missed and part of you thinks it was intentional. Still, you know that you aren't leaving the building penthouse alive.

The kitchen tile is cold as you collapse against it, propping yourself up against a stove that disappears seamlessly into the wall. You can hear the elevators running as the enforcers make their way to your final resting place, but you aren't disturbed. This is how it should be, you rationalize. You couldn't hide forever, not like him. The thought of him makes a bitter smile cross your face as you activate your communication screen. You briefly note how lucky you are that it wasn't your right arm that was blown to oblivion, taking your final goodbye with it.

The screen dials once, twice, then you're greeted with a vocal screen. You feel a pang of sadness when you realize that you won't see his face again.

"I take it you were successful?"

You instantly calm as Makishima Shogo's velvety voice fills the hollow space around you.

"Yes." You reply. It’s too simple but you don't know where to begin.

"Are you making your way back?"

You bite your lip and let his question hang in the air as your arm throbs painfully. "I don't think that's an option anymore." Your lips flicker momentarily into a rueful smile.

Makishima is silent for several long moments. "Are you sure?"

"I... Yes. I'm losing blood quickly. I'm sending the data that was collected from my work here." You stifle a sob that tries to wrack your body. "I... I wanted to say goodbye, Makishima-San."

Potent silence fills the space created by your communicators. "Enforcers?" He finally says. 

"Yes, one. He'll be here shortly." You bite your lip nervously; are you really ready to die? Are you really sure?

"I see. Your crime coefficient is a problem." He surmises. “And the prototype helmet?”

“Destroyed. I thought it was safer that way.”

“You’re right.” You can hear the irritation in his voice. Despite the data you’ve gathered on the helmet’s efficacy you know he considers this a loss. You shudder at the thought of how high your coefficient has risen. Tears roll freely down your face. "I... I'm scared. Tell me something to make it better?" 

You hear him chuckle and you can't help but join him. His voice drops to a strained note. "Your life had meaning."

"I think you're right." You smile; not because it makes you feel better, but because it's exactly what you thought he'd say. Your lip finds its way between your teeth again as the elevator dings at the other side of the suite. "He's here."

There's an uncomfortable moment of silence. This is it. 

"You are one of the few I'll regret losing." Even now you can picture how calm he must be, sitting in his chair and reading. You wish you were there to listen instead of dying in a godforsaken building on the other side of town. Still, all you can think of is him.

"Shogo?"

"Hm?"

"Do you... do you think that you'll be happy when this is all over?" You ask. You know that his happiness is fleeting at best, and part of you worries for him. A world without Sibyl would be a world without a masterful puzzle for him to solve. It would be a hell of his own creation. "Do you think you'll be able to live without a purpose?"

His voice is warm. "I don't have an answer for that."

You smile. "I hope you can."

You can hear footsteps coming down the hall and you know that you can't keep speaking. Even if you wanted to, your eyes are growing heavy as the blood keeps steadily dripping from your makeshift tourniquet. "Goodbye Makishima-San, and thank-you.”

"Sleep well.”

The transmission cuts out with a few seconds to spare and you immediately throw it into the microwave boiler in front of you and hit start with numb fingers. There's no time to be sentimental as the footsteps come to a stop in the doorway. You won't be the one to give Makishima away.

"Inspector...” You recognize Sasayama’s voice immediately.

“I never thought... after what happened I didn't wanna believe..." Sasayama watches you in disbelief, looking from you to your missing arm. "What the hell?" he asks quietly. 

You curse as you stand. Your body throbs and gravity seems impossible. You can see the disgust etched into his features as he watches you. There’s no way he didn’t come across your experiment on his way to the kitchen, a grotesque exercise in ruining a crime coefficient. You don't honestly know how you ended up where you are today. You know that there's a defined path, but to explain every piece of it would be like analyzing a lifetime. "Three years can change a lot" you offer in response.

Sasayama isn't sure if he should be disgusted or pity you, you can tell. You hadn't expected him to change much in all honesty. "Don't you have a shred of humanity left in you?" He asks in a quiet voice. He's a million miles from the laid-back man you remember.

You can't describe the feeling of freedom that washes over you when you respond, but you know that it's the most beautiful thing you've ever felt. 

"No. No I don't."

The heavy blood moving through your head brings you back to the night you disappeared.

You smile as you're engulfed in the memory from three years earlier; your life is beginning to flash through your consciousness.

You aren't quite sure when your humanity slipped away. You imagine it was somewhere around the point that your body had been pushed to accommodate your third attacker, but then again it could have been the fourth with his sharp rings and searing cigarette. The lengths that men would go to test the Sybil system's limits were cruel.

You remember how the concrete wall had been frigid and unrelenting against your bare chest as you were repeatedly slammed against it, your unfocused gaze watching the lights of the towering building that had ignored your pleas for help. You'd never seen a real pistol before but you'd never forget the cool steel muzzle that pressed between your shoulder blades. You remembered wondering if your psycho-pass was now as dark as the thick clouds rolling far overhead, ignorant to your violation.

The memories are jumbled and inconsequential after that; a blur of pain and cold, punctuated by ugly, throaty grunts and the smell of sex thick in your nose. 

You realize that your humanity had been gone by the time he'd arrived to find you laying on the pavement, laughing at the way the stars had just appeared. You'd been naked against the solid ground, covered only by the thick crimson of drying blood, both yours and your attackers'. To this day you can't remember when you found the loose brick in the wall and painted the alley with crimson ribbons of brain and bone but you know that you didn't regret it at all. You can still imagine the cool steel in your hand and the chemical smell of gunpowder.

You were clouded, that much was certain. As you'd watched the sky you'd vaguely wondered if the swirling storm had been ripped from the sky by your psycho-pass alone. You still weren't sure. Even as footsteps had approached you couldn't be bothered to stop smiling, not when you felt so light. The likelihood of those steps carrying a dominator was steep but yet you couldn't stop the glee that rose through you as you were free. You didn't care about the system's watchful eyes anymore. You didn't trust its promise of safety anymore, and you would never be its pawn again. How could you after you were ripped bare and destroyed while Sibyl did nothing? You no longer saw the system's purpose, and that was funny.

You laughed as the steps stopped behind your head, tears streaming from your eyes. Had your enforcers found you like this? Would they be surprised by your coefficient? You snorted, your tongue thick. "Do you really trust that piece of expensive scrap in your hand? Do you think it gives you power!?" you challenged. Your voice hung in your ears, bouncing behind your eyes in time with the throbbing in your temples.

Fertile silence pierced the alleyway before the smooth baritone of his voice had demanded you return from the stars. 

"Interesting." 

You remember what it was like to see him for the first time. He was pristine, calm, amused. You think that maybe he'd taken your last shred of empathy with his presence alone. You now know that he'd seen a new toy in you; a new entertainer needing strings and a script. 

At the time, you'd thought him an angel. 

You hadn't spoken; instead you'd watched him kneel to wipe your face with a pristine pocket cloth. You relished the deep red that came away from your face, a victorious blanket of revenge. "No man has any natural authority over his fellow men”.

His voice calmed you, yet the familiarity of his words had been immediate. "Rousseau?" You questioned.

He'd kept wiping with careful motions, tilting your head to trace the newly forming bruises on your throat. His lips had pulled into a serene smile. "Your mind is in-tact, I see". His tone was full of patronizing niceties that betrayed the overwhelming irony he saw in you; an inspector wrecked like a doll and filled with an instantaneous resentment for a system respected so highly hours before.

When he'd offered his hand you'd taken it hesitantly. You didn't know why you'd halted, but even then you'd understood the balance of power between you. You knew that he'd held the strap of your leash the moment his voice had filled your ears and you knew you hadn't cared. You would follow him because that night, in the haze of clarity that killed your former self, you'd been set free to do so.

That night, you'd been truly born.

The pain of being reborn was astronomical; you'd lain in bed for weeks. Your body had been beaten, shot. Your skin had scraped raw in places and was marked with mottled scabs surrounded in thick black and purple, some bruises held the imprint of rings. The internal damage those men had inflicted required repetitive, painful treatment. The shot they'd managed had destroyed your shoulder and left your arm limp with pain, yet that wasn't the worst. 

The worst had been the lashes carved across your mind. 

For the first while you'd cried incessantly, unable to hold back the despair and powerlessness that you felt. They were dead, you'd killed them, and yet something precious had been ripped from your very soul. You woke from vivid nightmares to find your bandages covered in red and your body clammy with eerie fear-sweat. You couldn't hold down food.

Slowly though, you'd become curious about the minuscule, insulated world around you.

A doctor had occasionally flitted in and out to check on you and you wondered what he'd done to go into hiding here. It was obvious that you were being housed in a penthouse of sorts, with high ceilings and exquisitely expensive holos that hid the array of medical equipment around you. It was also glaringly obvious that Sibyl had no footing here. 

You longed to check your hue.

You wondered what colour you'd turned as you watched time pass and replayed the events of that night over and over, each time less painful than before. It was so much clearer in retrospect; they'd cut you off from your enforcers, jammed your dominator's signal, and were immediately ready when you'd chased your target into the dead-end alley with a useless weapon. They'd prepared and you hadn't seen through it.

How could you have been so stupid?

He read to you every day, always something different. There was a new book next to your bed daily, which you would later learn was a test you'd passed as you read page after page. He read classic after classic to you as your body healed and your mind cleared. There had only been two times that he hadn't, and on those days he came back looking more tired than usual, as though he were under pressures you hadn't understood. 

You remember jolting out of your thoughts as he sat on the edge of your bed, book hanging idly in his hand. Your skin crawled and you couldn't escape the feeling of transparency that covered you as he watched you through amber eyes. He saw the world through a lens much different from everyone else, you'd come to realize. Part of you was scared of him because of it, yet part of you had wanted to understand.

His eyes danced in amusement. "I pity you." He'd said.

You couldn’t bring yourself to feign surprise. "You're wasting your time with me."

He watched you with amused eyes, delighting in the first response you'd given him since taking his hand in blood-soaked delirium. "What would be a productive use of my time, then?" He countered.

You didn't know. You hated his question and his subtle smirk. You didn't respond.

"Is there any productivity to be found in an inspector with a clouded hue?" He pried, his tone mocking and cold. Your anger flared.

"My job has nothing to do with this!" You snapped, an animal cornered.

"Your job has everything to do with this.” He replied calmly. “How is a violated, broken inspector supposed to protect blameless Sibyl when her own hue is as clouded as mud?"

Your skin tingled with anger but you hadn't known what to say. You wanted to smash the teasing glare right off his face and simultaneously bury yourself in the blankets. Your eyes pricked as your frustration mounted and you'd clenched your teeth against your tears. You shouldn't have said a word. Your frustration pushed the tears from your eyes and you were mad at them too.

His gaze was heavy on your skin.

"Perhaps I should have left you for dead, then. Would you have liked that?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you fight to live?"

Your anger had quelled briefly. You didn't know. You shuddered as you stifled a frustrated sob. Couldn't he just leave you alone!? You turned your head away from his gaze.

"Surely you know they meant to kill you. If you were really as intent on dying as you claim to be, you would have let them crush the life out of you in that alley."

"It was only natural to fight!" You bit back. Your tears made hot trails down your cheeks.

"No. It was only natural to fear. You feared death then as you fear living now. What will become of you, the defender of justice turned useless victim? What use is all your pride when those men were able to rip it from you so easily?" Your shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. His eyes danced as he watched you start to fall apart. You were too emotionally weak to stand up to his words, too cracked to handle his careful tapping on your mind's glass. 'Is this what he wants?' You'd thought. 'Does he want you to fall apart?’ You bit your lip nervously and stared at the ceiling. You didn't know what you were feeling, just that you were feeling a lot.

He continued. "You're scared of the truth: there is nothing left for you in that world." 

A strangled hush left your mouth. You'd only realized you'd moved when your balled fists had weakly collided with his chest, your body screaming in protest. Your tears ran freely, you didn't care about hiding them anymore as your shoulders heaved and you let yourself break.

He did something unexpected. 

He held you as your fists stopped their onslaught. You couldn't see the victorious flicker in his eyes but you knew it had been there. You could feel it in the silky tone he soothed you in, and you suddenly understood what he'd been doing. He'd been fixing a window, removing the broken glass to make room for a pristine new pane.

He was getting rid of all the little shards of you that had remained. 

Something in you had given way. You tentatively hid your face in his neck. One sniffle, two sniffles, then you'd sobbed against him and wet his silver-white hair with your tears. He was cracking apart the final tumultuous pieces of your strength and you didn't have enough resolve to fight him.

"Why?" You muttered softly. "Why are you breaking me again?"

He'd softly stroked your hair, ignored the fearful tremor in your shoulders. "Because I'm going to put you back together."

You didn't know if those were his true intentions or if he was simply manipulating you, but with each simple stroke of his hand you cared less. You buried your face in his shoulder and let his hand start to lull you to sleep. 

You thought that maybe you were better broken. 

"Why?"

He'd smiled down at you so serenely that you had chills. "Because not all broken things are useless."

You'd released a final tired sigh and relaxed into him. He'd picked up the book and this time you willingly let his voice caress you as his fingers smoothed over your hair.

Days continued to slip by. You'd wanted to know why he was doing this. He had to want something in return, something that you hadn't yet given him. The possibilities had given you nightmares that you woke from, tangled in sheets and cables and shaking with unbridled terror. 

His motivation haunted you. 

Why did he insist on waking you with social theory and sending you to sleep with terrifying fantasy? How did he know the passages to read to bring your anger to a rolling boil and then slash it down to wooden coals? Truthfully, he scared you. The charismatic stranger from the alley that seemed to want nothing for your recuperation. Your skepticism broiled, then dissipated. He'd saved you. Was there anything you'd deny him?

No, you reasoned. There wasn't.

You most remember the day he was reading Camus, selling you the quiet, apathetic plight of Mersault as he examined his impending death. His sateen voice washed over you and you'd wondered if you could ever be so calm. His lips moved gracefully in tandem with his eyes as they scanned the pages, and you remember the gentle way his hand caressed the book.

"What do you want from me, Makishima-san?" You'd blurted out. 

He'd calmly closed the book and set it down, shifting to sit on the edge of your bed. The dip in the mattress had made you nervous under his serene gaze. 

"I've been waiting for your interest in that." He'd admitted, smoothing the edge of your sheet. "What do you think I want from you?"

You'd mustered up the strength to look at him questioningly. "I don't know, but whatever it is… I'll do it."

When he'd turned his face to you completely, you knew you'd said the right thing. You couldn't identify the look on his face; the subtle smile, tilted head, gentle eyes. Looking back, you realize it had been pride.

He'd been proud of your answer. You'd shown him that he'd chosen the right toy.

After that, Makishima became your life.

He healed you with his words and steady gaze. He saw your resilience and he taught you free action. He took the guilt and shame of your attack and turned them into razor focus and careful loathing for the system that had blinded itself to you. He opened your eyes day after day to the realities of the world around you; teaching you, challenging you, deconstructing you. 

Owning you.

In return you entertained him. You learned how to kill and why. You spent night after night reading by the fire, educating yourself on technical skills: circuitry, holo generation, scan dodging. You also studied so that you could answer him when he posed his philosophical questions. Why was the rest of the world in chaos? Was there any morality in human nature? Did the ends sometimes dictate violent means? 

You passed on your inspector's knowledge and used it to inform his plans. You learned the blind spots in Sibyl's vision and slipped between them to connect him to other free-thinkers. Murderers, thieves, hackers. You brought him new toys, each one more twisted than the last.

You know that the irony of your servitude still amused him; a broken Sibyl inspector loyal to a man that wished to destroy it. You were an exquisite pet in need of careful re-training, and you felt him take his time in subtly molding you into a tool, a multipurpose weapon to be used as needed. You let him. He never hid his intentions from you like the system you'd come to loathe. He smiled when he caught you reading Kirk.

You trusted him completely. There was nothing you'd deny him.

You remember realizing the extent of your loyalty a year after you finally left your bed.

He had been looking for new leads into the manufacturing industry, ways to create the things he needed to enact his plans. Access to means of production could allow him a wealth of opportunity to tweak current merchandise and create his own sibyl-antagonizing weapons. He'd been constantly seeking the right outlet and by all indications he'd finally found it in an underhanded businessman known only as Koichi. You didn't dignify his existence with a name; his smug aura made your skin crawl. You’d learned that anyone who considered themselves your master’s equal were the worst kind of idiot.

The man was almost salivating at the idea of controlling the contract Makishima proposed.

You remember how the man had been unashamedly undressing you with his eyes from the moment you three arrived, leading Choe to comment on it. You weren't surprised at all when the man wished for you as a nod of good faith for his services.

The man had access to valuable technology and you could never deny Makishima things of such importance for his plans. You'd accepted without a second thought. Makishima's lips had curved upwards at the man's shocked expression and you'd heard Choe snicker in amusement as he slipped away. 

You truly had become subservient.

Makishima hadn't cast a glance your way as he slipped out of the room and you burned with pride as he trusted your loyalty. 

You remember it as though it were happening again.

The man had you pinned to the table almost as soon as you were alone.

It was unceremonious, the way he tore at the business-smart clothing you wore, but you couldn't hold that against someone so blind. Anyone who could be enamoured with an attractive body while the world crumbled around them was a fool, you'd come to understand. An attractive mind, however, was a different beast entirely.

You watched the man undress you and passively wondered if he'd manage to turn you on. You almost laughed but realized it would be rude. 

His hands slid eagerly along your skin and into your hair, taking greedy moments to feel you everywhere once you were finally naked. You weren't afraid, even as he ripped your head back and your memories made you taste the sullied water of that godforsaken alley from a lifetime before. No, you weren't afraid as you thought back to that night, with its brick and pain and blood and release.

You thought of Makishima.

The man's touch began to elicit a hum of feeling as you thought of the way Makishima had liberated you. The hand in your hair started to remind you of the nights you spent seated across from your saviour, reading well into the early hours of the morning and facilitating a cross-pollination of revolutionary ideas.

You cried out as the man spread your legs, a fire coiling within as you thought of the mind that ignited you.

The man groaned happily as he freed himself from his pants, his shirt still hanging loose around him. His eyebrow raised as he looked at his tie and back at you. You weren't surprised when your wrists throbbed against the table's edge a moment later. 

You hated being restrained, you always had. That night was different though. That night you arched into the stranger's touch as you thought of the way that his transgression would cost him. He spread you apart and you moaned lewdly but you weren't in the room with him. You were lost in the future, thinking of the way that Makishima would use the information from this man. It made you wet. You thought of how his every touch was inconsequential next to the sheer power of your master's mind. You thought of that beautiful, hideous, unfathomable mind as the man buried himself in you. 

You came, hard.

The man's hands slipped to your hips and crushed you against him with each thrust. Your body shuddered as you imagined useless dominators and shattering cameras, new heat coiling deep within you. You wanted everything that Makishima saw, and it took everything in you not to moan out his name as a stranger used your body.

"You like that, don't you?" The man had growled as he turned you, your breasts pressed into the table and your legs spread almost painfully.

The man's voice had cut through your thoughts and you lost the flame in your core. "Do you want to know what I'll do to you?" He'd taunted, not realizing that you didn't give a damn. You had a part to play, though, and you couldn't let him know you were soaking wet at the thought of your saviour's depraved justice. You couldn't retch as the man muttered what a bad girl you'd been, choosing him over your 'inexperienced' master. Instead, you imagined what Makishima would do to the man after he had what he wanted. You thought of the way the man's body would be carved into neat lines by the swift arc of a razor. You imagined the neutral expression that would grace angelic features as the man's throat gaped in the open air.

You whimpered.

He'd started to fuck you again. When he asked what it was like to be fucked by a real man you almost lost control of the hysterical laughs that tried to slip past your teeth.

A real man.

There was nothing more real than the cold calculation in your master's amber eyes; there was no greater attractant than the way he ignored your body, making you want him so badly you physically hurt. There was nothing more beautiful than his rationality as it defeated an omnipotent system's logic. Your body shuddered again and you almost fell apart.

When the man was finally done, you realized that you'd never felt so sated in your life.

After that, sex became your power.

You'd never thought much of the physical act when your psycho-pass had been clear, in fact you ignored it completely in your pursuit of promotion and the seamless execution of your job. Relationships could cloud the mind and steal focus, and neither alternative seemed worth it to you.

There wasn't any room for distraction in your line of work despite the way that some inspectors seemed to flaunt their late nights in the enforcers' wing. Some rules were more bendable than others, after-all. It wasn't as though you didn't understand the draw; you weren't impervious to the kinds of ties that could grow after multiple long days and nights of witnessing nothing but gruesome and chaotic crime. You understood how finding comfort with those who relate could make the job seem easier. Still, you'd preferred to ease your tensions with conversation and the occasional over-indulgence in the bureau's stash of alcohol. 

It wasn't as though you'd never had sex before, though. Ever curious and not one to let opportunity pass by, you'd fooled around in your teen years and found that, although pleasing, sex wasn't worth the social fiascos that it could elicit. You remember Shion calling your mental state downright depressing, and Sasayama agreeing that 'wasting a body like that' was more criminal than anything either of them had done. You'd excused yourself from the room. 

You wonder what they would have thought if they knew you’d spent your time the past three years wrapped around a genius criminal hacker. Sex with Choe stands clearly in your memories. You’re not sure why; maybe it’s the vividness, the clarity it brought you. Maybe it’s several memories blending seamlessly into one. Regardless, even as your mind grows foggy you can recall as though it were the present.

A languid moan escapes your lips as Choe rolls his hips into yours.

Yes, sex was much more important to you after Koichi. You can see through your actions as clear as looking through glass and you know you weren't the only one. Sex was used to rip your power from you, and every time you let yourself give in you dragged a piece of it back through levels of pleasure you'd never been able to experience before. Your transparency was laughable. You could see the stereotypical psychological profile of a victim at work but you ignored it in favor of physical freedom. Choe was willing to oblige.

Hands on your hips spread fire across your skin as you rode him.

Your body had become something else entirely, something wanton, lewd, and even whorish. You craved touch as you craved air, and you knew as clear as day that it was your deepest psychological scars that made it possible. You never knew if you should feel ashamed or liberated, so you didn't bother feeling anything beyond the physical. The company you kept didn't seem to mind.

You arched for cybernetic eyes as your body clamped down around him, wanting him deeper, harder. He groaned at your pressure.

Despite the uninterrupted time you spent in Choe's bed (office, shower), you're not sure what Makishima thought of the situation. You'd asked him unabashedly about it, but despite his answer of "it's necessary for your stability and focus", you weren't satisfied. You knew better than to ask him a question twice, though. You wondered if it ever offended him that you didn't demand the attention from him, not that you ever could. He'd done more than enough for you. Sometimes you doubted he had any interest in sex at all, but after he returned from long nights away with a razor freshly cleaned you could see the burn behind his eyes that signaled his want. You would have sated it had he ever asked.

Choe crushed you against him, hands full of bruising pressure as he switched your position. You found yourself on your back at the mercy of his unrelenting pace, his fingertips adding swirls of euphoria as he reached between you to speed your release. You wish you would have slept together one last time before the mission, the memories not helping your plight at all.

There was something inherently sexy about being fucked by someone ten years your senior and many times you’d scolded yourself for wasting time with your peers. You reminded yourself that it was his undeniably superior intellect that was the elevating factor. You'd always been enthralled with intellect, savouring your time with those who could argue with you philosophically; Masaoka, Kaikawa, and the new inspector from Division 3. As strangely sexual as you've become, you don't think you could have slept with someone of poor intellectual capacity. Perhaps it was the plentiful nature of intelligent people surrounding Makishima that had really made you sexual. You aren't sure.

When you both re-dressed you'd fallen back to work with renewed clarity. Your sexual arrangement worked with Choe because he didn’t expect anything from you past physical fulfillment. No emotion, no attachment, just physical gratification that never bled into your camaraderie and teamwork. There was no possessiveness, no claims. After long days and nights spent bent over schematics and glued to screens you imagine he enjoyed the release himself.

Of course, Shogo required a different type of release, one that took you down to the city’s hidden underbelly.

Senguji Toyohisa's underground labyrinth always left a dank taste in your mouth. You could appreciate the hard work that went into the traps and running channels, and the secrecy that it took to build, but you hated the smell that seemed to stick to everything around you.

You didn't frequently visit the hidden hunting ground; Makishima preferred to keep some business private, after-all. When he asked you to accompany him to watch an event you couldn’t turn him down. Anything that Makishima believed worth watching was something you refused to miss. 

You watched the hunt from one of the rust-spattered staircases that served as a spectator box of sorts. A heavy set of binoculars rested on a pristine table next to you, along with a fizzing glass of water, tea, and assorted confections. Cyborg or not, Senguji was an excellent host. 

Scrabbling claws and metallic barking let you know that the game had begun.

A chill ran along your arms as you realized how close you were to the ground, just high enough to see the full layout of the maze. Part of you curiously wondered if you were being set up as a contender in the game. As surely as you know that Makishima trusted you, you knew that he was still unfathomably dangerous. Sometimes you wondered what game of his would lead to your death, and you wondered just how expendable you were. Those questions had been answered now, your missing arm making your body start to drip cold instead of warm. Your perception was starting to fail. It left a taste in your mouth of wet sand flakes.

You smile.

You remember thinking that the freedom he'd given you was the same freedom he possessed. It would be fitting if he chose your death after showing you how to live, though you hadn’t intended to die a boring death.

A figure made a terrified dash across one of the alleyways and you felt your senses alight. Makishima had not joined you yet, but you shifted to the edge of your seat to watch the figure try to hide from Kafka, the red drone-mutt. 

"I have to wonder if the drones have ever tasted blood." Makishima ponders as he joins you in the witness stand. You knew he was being metaphorical. They’d coated their steel-hewn teeth in blood before, but taste could only be relative. Could a drone taste? He’d been amusing himself as he leaned casually on the railing and watched the figure dart away.

"Would they understand the taste?" You countered. 

He smiled. You always wanted to remember that carefree smile, as though he was standing in a park as opposed to an underground death chamber. You remember the rust-red walls framing him in sharp contrast. He truly was beautiful.

Your lips had curved in an interested grin as you heard the mutts send the figure running up an oil-slicked ramp. Watching Senguji's hunts was fascinating, a tribulation for his prey and rejuvenation for the hunter. You realize that you've gained a sick entertainment from the four you've seen. You’d learned important lessons there.

"Are the criminals you toy with dogs or prey?" you’d asked.

He smiled but didn't answer immediately. You both watched the figure, which you could identify as male, slide down the ramp and run in the opposite direction. "That can only be determined on a case-by-case basis." 

"And your criteria is utility?"

"Among other things." He’d watched you for a long moment, his eyes ever-knowing as usual. "Are you worried about becoming prey? A pet shouldn't worry about such things."

“Pet?” The corner of your mouth twitched up. "I'm not worried... you'll never give me any indication. I won't know until the trap snaps shut”. You liked it that way.

The figure's breathing could be heard across the arena and Makishima looked out across the maze. "Isn't it the case that pets occasionally find themselves in traps?"

"There are no accidents with you." You left your response open. To be any more specific would betray your belief in his fallible loyalty, but the smile that tugged at his eyes rewarded you. His eyes were more forthcoming than most people realized. Then again, your understanding was only a product of being around him continually, and even then there were days when he was an unreadable tome. That day though, a slight tilt of the head; you'd amused him.

"If it were anyone but you, I'd question your loyalty after that comment." He’d warned. 

"Even the best pets are put down eventually." 

His smile was wide and he chuckled. You didn’t know what to make of his amusement, but you'd stopped trying to understand what happened in his mind. He stepped away for a moment as the figure ran to the balconies and waved blindly for help. You could see him clearly, and a surprised gasp slipped from your mouth.

It was the businessman from months ago, the one who’d made you play prostitute for his services.  
He waved his arms frantically for help as you stood. You watched with cold eyes. His arms immediately stopped as he looked past you. You hadn't realized that Makishima had gone to retrieve something, but as he approached the railing you tilted your head in curiosity. He had a woman by the arm, a black bag sitting loosely over her head.

She was a shivering mess. Someone not made to deal with the darker side of humanity, clearly. It was likely her first time entertaining the idea of kidnapping let alone murder. You wondered if she could comprehend the level of darkness that was seeping into her pores, or if she had been ignorant enough to not know what to expect. Still clothed in her nightgown, you could see a single lock of black hair slipping along her collarbone. You mildly wondered who she was.

The man let out a piercing wail and his eyes turned wide as saucers. He's forgotten the mutts, and they him. He knew that Makishima has planned this stage show... there would be no more hunting tonight. 

"M-Makishima-San... why are you-why did you- wasn't my help valuable!?" The man stammered. You could see him shake from where you were sitting and you felt a sick sense of joy. How your psycho-pass must have been crying for the light, you muse.

"Value is a weighted term, Koichi-san. Your value is relative to my progress. Unfortunately you are responsible for making my current progress slow and invariably disappointing." Makishima said in a level tone. The levity in his tone was chilling, as it always was when he decided to dirty his own hands.

"I did everything you asked! Why is your lack of progress my fault!?" The man pleaded as the black bag found its new home on the metal floor. The woman looked at her surroundings and a nervous sound slipped from her throat. She was paralyzed in fear, caught in the final moments of her life without realizing that the last few grains of sand were slipping through her infinitesimal hourglass. You wonder what it must be like to freeze in terror and miss the only chance you have to die.

"If you don't understand that, then I'm afraid there's no correcting your behaviour." Makishima's voice was smooth as he delivered his loose-end line and you began to thrum with anticipation of the man's end. The moment you’d fantasized was almost coming to life.

"Aoi, how did he get you here!?" The man almost whined, his voice cracking as his knees hit the ground. You shivered. You could see Makishima slowly snipping the threads that held the man together one by one. You hung silent with baited breath, knowing that he was far from finished.

A slender finger landed on the terrified woman's mouth. "I'm afraid your wife wasn't very happy to hear that you'd demanded sex in payment for business." Your silver-haired master purred as he pulled out his intricate razor. You licked your lips at the passive danger in his voice. "She came with me immediately to reprimand you after I expressed my displeasure at the video I stumbled across."

"V-video!?" The man stuttered, then his eyes narrowed and his body was full of anger. "Aoi nothing happened! Don’t believe this madman!" As though he hadn’t tied you to a table and insulted your saviour as he split you apart. As though he could lie in front of the embodiment of chaotic good and expect no retribution. It was like he hadn’t understood the calculating terror that Makishima embodied.

“Ah ah ah! Even here you’re a liar and a coward, Koichi-kun, and a poor liar at that! Liars need to have good memories lest they become vandals, destroying the art of half-truth and sleight of hand. I think we can agree that vandalism devoid of conviction is wasteful and insulting. Do you intend to insult me, Koichi?”

The woman whimpered and you inwardly commended her on finally catching onto the present danger her husband’s mouth had placed her in. "Ssh, shh." Makishima patronized. The flat of the razor pressed to the woman's lips and you unconsciously licked yours again. Your heart beat nervously at the idea of a video of that night. You knew he hadn’t been upset with you, but you also knew that as sure as he was prideful he was jealous in ways that common people didn’t understand. Anyone could have toyed with you and he wouldn’t have cared, but that baseless, unintelligent man had undermined his work and insulted the thing that your master held above all else: free will.

Makishima continued. "Is lying a trait of a 'real man', I wonder?" The man's face paled as the words he'd said to you echo across the arena. Real man. Your lip twitched as he continued. "What about disloyalty and dishonesty? How much did selling my name to your black-market compatriots earn you, _real man_?" 

Makishima knew exactly how to toy with the shaking man in front of him; he knew how to toy with anyone. Knowing that the man had sold your master's information made you suppress a chill of straight fear. Not for you, but for the project that you had all been working so tirelessly on. How much work had been jeopardized? How many steps back had they been forced to take? You felt prickling hate run over your skin, an electric blanket in the warmth of the underground.

A guttural whine rose from the man as he watched the razor hover over the crying woman's skin, ghosting across her neck to caress the soft skin beneath her ear. Makishima’s weapon was so personal, so unbelievably tender and innocuous, but so incredibly lethal in his lithe hands. "You used something of mine for your own pleasure and disrespected our agreement behind my back. I believe it's only fitting to entertain myself with something of yours, is it not?"

The woman was sobbing as she finally realized that she would die, her body shaking timidly as she shied away from the razor at her throat. It was unfortunate that she was caught up in this, you’d thought. But then again, decisions made by individuals rarely only affect themselves. "What about your free choice!? You can choose to let her go and take me instead!" The man laughably pleaded.

Makishima laughed, then smiled. A beautiful and deadly expression. "I assure you, my choices are always free."

The razor whipped across the woman's throat in a clean motion and you’d felt your body tingle as you heard her try to scream. Thick gurgles cut across the arena as Makishima let her fall to the steel at his feet to struggle before falling over the edge and crashing to the ground below. You saw a glint of a hunting dog in the shadows and you slid from your seat to kneel and watch with unabashed focus. You’d never been so invested in a kill before, not even when testing the helmets. He looked down at you curiously as the steel mutts descended on their prey at last, answering the forgotten question of their taste for blood. You watched in fascination as Kafka ripped the man to pieces, gouging bloody, entrail-filled bites out of him and whipping them around in a crude mockery of a dog. You didn’t notice you were smiling until he spoke.

"You hid your anger all these months" he mused aloud. "Have you wished him dead for this long after agreeing so readily to his proposition?"

You tore your eyes away from the bloodied screaming below as you realized that he’d done it for you. There was no other reason for him to bring you there that night, to make such a show of the man’s punishment. One call and Koichi could have disappeared as a victim of one of Makishima's countless pupils.

"My agreement and enjoyment had little to do with him." You’d said. You weren’t sure if you’d ever planned on talking to him about that night, but you’d never deny him an answer you could give. He watched you with intrigued amber eyes as the screaming from below was finally silenced. Your body hummed as you looked up at him, so completely focused on you. You couldn’t put into words how much it meant to you that he’d let you watch this particular scene. You were humbled that he’d considered you at all in his warped administration of justice. You turned to face him, head resting against his hand. The razor dripped blood between your breasts, staining your body in a way you saw fitting.

"You enjoyed what was in your mind." He surmises with a knowing lilt. You wondered if you should feel patronized by him stating what you both already knew. He only stated the obvious to elicit a specific response, and you didn’t know what that was. You looked away but he didn’t want that, even as your face betrayed your embarrassment. The tip of his razor traced under your chin and you tilted your head back until you were staring into his eyes again. "And what was that?"

"I imagined you ending his life." Your nerves sit at the edge of a feeling you don’t understand as you tell him, your body suddenly in tune to everything happening around you. You can feel your heart pounding as you try to read his expression. “I imagined what it would be like to watch you carve him to pieces”.

His lips curved upwards as his eyes continued their dance. There was no way for him to know how thankful you were, how much respect you’d given him because of that one show. You did the first thing that came to mind. You lowered your head and slipped your mouth over the blood-soaked razor carefully, licked the sticky fluid from the blade, cleaning it with your mouth. In that motion you handed him all of your trust. You looked up at him and watched his face as you sat with his killing tool cool on your tongue, surrendering completely. Looking back over your life, you know that it was the most erotic moment you had ever experienced.

He recognized your action for what it was. He turned the blade ever so slightly and sent a hot rivulet of blood running down your chin, his cruel nature wanting to test the level of your commitment. The pain centered you. He slipped the blade from your mouth without further event. "And what did you think when he was finished?" He asked in a tone so level it should have been a crime. 

You looked him in the eyes again and licked the drying blood from your lips. You could see a curious burn raging behind his eyes and it stole your breath.

"I wished it had been you."

He knelt in front of you and ran his thumb over the small cut on your lip, pressing the pad of it into the split flesh and you whimpered, arousal pulling at the edge of your mind. You know how pathetically transparent you were. You knew it then. You’d pulled your mouth away and looked away from him, embarrassed.

He hummed and turned your face back to him. You could see the curiosity and understanding in his eyes before he pulled you to him, resting his nose in your hair and sighing. In moments like these you knew he understood your hesitance. When he looked at you he did so with all of your scars on display and made you more vulnerable than you knew how to deal with. You silently cursed his understanding and careful caress because underneath the surface you felt the cold apathy that would always separate you from him. You smiled. It was better that way. That cold edge was what allowed you to follow him in the first place. Safety in detachment. In some ways it made him more human than anyone else.

He stood and offered his hand. “The real hunt is about to begin, let’s not miss it.”

You took his hand and joined him, sitting back at the small table to watch the proceedings. Your mind had been reeling with everything that had taken place, but in the end he centered you again. He always would. The first shot of the hunt rang out and you settled in, finally pouring tea for both of you and inhaling the warm herbal scent.

You think it was the first time you’d been truly at peace.

A loud crash brings you out of your bleary-eyed reverie and back to the throbbing pain from your missing arm and the eerie blue dominator glow in Sasayama’s eyes. "Don't you have a shred of humanity left in you?" You don't bother to look as the interrogative voice of your former subordinate rings through the air. 

If you could thank a higher power for anything, it would be the feeling of calm spreading through you. The scent of herbal tea still hung in your nose as the pain started to fade away, your nerves finally dying. "No. No I don't."

"Well, in that case..." The sound of a dominator transforming finally makes you meet his eyes. You aren't surprised by the malicious blue hue of the lethal eliminator mode as you lean against the kitchen counter. You knew you’d crossed beyond the realm of the paralyzer years ago.

"How could I have any humanity left, Sasayama-san?" You reply. Your feet are sticky with your own blood as it keeps dripping. You step forward.

"This isn't you, Inspector... is there even any trace of you left in there, or did you give up without a damned fight?" he almost snarls through his teeth. Even as indecision rings in his voice though, his dominator doesn't move. You smile.

"It's me. In fact, I've never been more conscious than when I left. I wasn't really alive until I stopped caring about my psycho-pass... you know how that feels, don't you Sasayama-san?" Your voice is shaking with effort.

His lips are set in a hard line, free from the jovial expressions you remember him wearing. "And the killing, Inspector? Is that you too?"

You smirk and stand to face him completely. "Everyone has sins."

"And the man next door, what the hell did he do!? There's no chance a man with his psycho-pass could do anything to deserve that!" He's disgusted and in disbelief. Of course, there was no way to prepare an unsuspecting visitor for the carefully dissected mess you'd made of your victim. You wonder what he'll think when he finds out the man was still breathing for most of it. 

Your words are deliberate as you move so close that the dominator is pressing to your chest. "Everyone has a debt they owe."

Sasayama's eyes narrow as he realizes that the debt is owed by you, not the mess of flesh next door. He'd always been so perceptive under his laid-back exterior. "Who do you owe!? We can protect you... I'll protect you. You have to trust that much."

"I hope for your sake you can pull that trigger, there's nothing for you to save."

He sees the glint of the kitchen knife before you've even had a chance to strike, and part of you wanted him to. In a world of people you could never kill he's one of the few left. Still, he's figured out the crucial key: who. He knows that someone is pulling your strings and you know that you can never betray your silver-tongued master. Whether through your death or Sasayama's, Makishima's identity will remain hidden. 

You feel the dominator rumble against your chest and you can only offer a tired smile. "That's good."

"I'm sorry." Sasayama mutters, his jaw clenched in a strained line.

"I'm not."

As you feel the energy pulse rippling through you, tearing you limb from limb, all you can think of is how Makishima Shogo truly set you free.

You could never be sorry for allowing him to.

***

On the outside Makishima was as calm as usual as he sipped his tea. He was serene, almost docile to anyone walking by. Choe knew better. He could see the calculated rage hiding in his friend's unnatural gaze. 

He looked from Makishima to the carefully positioned communicator, the one that had just relayed his companion’s final moments.

"What are you going to do?" He asked, breaking the silence of the room.

Makishima gently set his cup down. "I have a new target for our dear friend Kozaburo Touma." He said, seemingly deflecting the question. 

"Is that so?" Choe asked.

Makishima looked out the window absentmindedly, as if lost in a world of thought that another person could never quite reach. "We need a member of the MWPSB to move forward with our data, and I've found a suitable candidate."

Choe felt a chill. "Who's the lucky winner?"

"Sasayama Mitsuru."

**Author's Note:**

> The tense changes spattered throughout are intentional as the narrator is not incredibly lucid while reliving her life.


End file.
